Silas turned to his mother, Alice Creed, her face illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight. The soft light emphasized the strands of dark hair falling loose from her hastily tied bun, framing a face that bore the weight of years of anguish and sacrifice. Her features were lined with exhaustion, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, but beneath it all, there was an undeniable strength—a quiet, unshakable resolve that had carried her through everything life had thrown at her.
"Mom, I know there's a lot of unknowns," Silas began, his voice uneven and uncertain, as though he was grappling with his own words while he spoke.
Alice raised a hand, cutting him off before he could go any further. "You want me to go to the Pagoda, don't you?" she asked bluntly. Her tone was calm, but her gaze was piercing, sharp enough to pin him where he stood.
Silas stiffened at her directness, his body tense as he searched for the right response. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt this way, why the thought of her staying behind filled him with such a deep sense of unease. Maybe it was the system, the surreal, almost clinical way it had spoken of survival percentages and trials. Maybe it was the looming threat of the Awakening, a concept he barely understood but instinctively feared. Or maybe it was something simpler—the knowledge that his mother, who had sacrificed so much for him, deserved the best chance she could get.
"Yes," he said finally, his voice stronger, steadier this time.
Alice didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his expression. He looked so much like Creedence in that moment—his father, her ex-husband. There was the same pragmatism, the same unflinching sense of duty, the willingness to do what had to be done regardless of the discomfort it caused. But unlike Creedence, Silas hadn't been corrupted by ambition or greed. He still had a purity to him, a compassion that his father had lost long ago.
The thought of Creedence brought a bitter scoff to her lips. She couldn't help but think of the last time she'd seen him and his stepson, boarding a plane for some business meeting on the other side of the country. Fuck him, she thought bitterly, her lips tightening. She could only hope they'd been mid-flight when technology failed. Maybe fate had finally come for the selfish bastard.
Her gaze softened as it returned to Silas. Her son, who she had fought for, sacrificed for, prayed for, every single day of the last two years. She didn't want to leave him. She'd just gotten him back, and the thought of parting from him now, even temporarily, was like a knife twisting in her chest. For two long years, she had endured every second of his suffering as though it were her own. She had begged for a miracle, and now that it had come, the idea of stepping away from him felt unbearable.
But as much as she wanted to stay, she knew he was right. The pragmatic part of her, the part she hated to admit she shared with her ex-husband, recognized the truth in his words. She didn't fully understand the Pagoda, the Awakening, or what lay ahead, but she trusted Silas. And deep down, she knew this was what she had to do.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady her emotions, and met his gaze with a calm resolve. "Fine," she said quietly. "I'll go to the Pagoda."
"Fine," she said finally, her voice steady despite the torrent of emotions swirling behind her eyes. "I'll go to the Pagoda."
The moment the words left her lips, the system's notification blinked to life in her vision, its cold, mechanical tone cutting through the flickering warmth of the candlelit room.
Host has consented to being transported to the Pagoda. Prepare for transportation in 3… 2…
"What?" Alice gasped, her voice tinged with panic as the message glowed insistently before her. She turned to Silas, her face pale and strained. "Silas, I—"
But she didn't get the chance to finish. The countdown hit zero, and a blinding flash of blue light engulfed her before she could utter another word. The glow was so intense that Silas had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, she was gone.
For a moment, Silas just stared at the empty space where his mother had been standing, his mind struggling to process the suddenness of it all. The silence that followed was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint hiss of the extinguished candle nearest to where she had vanished. His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "She's… gone," he muttered under his breath.
The words hung in the air as he remained frozen, the weight of everything crashing down on him. His mother was gone, whisked away to a place he couldn't follow. His body—once broken beyond repair—was whole again. A mysterious system had taken root in his mind. The world was apparently awakening to something entirely unknown, and he had no idea what to expect. It was too much, too fast, and yet… this was his reality now.
For a fleeting moment, the thought of sitting down crossed his mind, of letting himself sink into the familiar safety of stillness. But then he stiffened, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. "Fuck that," he muttered. After two years of lying in bed, confined and helpless, he wasn't about to go back to that—not now, not ever.
Straightening up, Silas clenched his fists and exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of his breath. He couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice firmer. "First things first."
With a purpose he hadn't felt in years, Silas descended the stairs to the lower levels of the estate. The faint glow of scattered candles cast long, wavering shadows on the walls, and the quiet was almost unnerving. Occasionally, he glimpsed movement—servants or security guards huddled together in whispered conversations, their voices tinged with fear and uncertainty. He ignored them. Whatever panic they were feeling, whatever chaos had overtaken their lives, Silas couldn't focus on that right now. He had his own priorities.
He reached the door to his brother's room and frowned. The handle didn't budge when he tried it. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He had been hoping to find clothes—anything more practical than the silk pajamas he was wearing. Since the accident, everything that had once been his—his clothes, his belongings—had either been packed away or discarded. There was nothing left for him in his own space. He needed to find something usable, and he needed it fast.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice steady despite the torrent of emotions swirling behind her eyes. "I'll go to the Pagoda."
The moment the words left her lips, the system's notification blinked to life in her vision, its cold, mechanical tone cutting through the flickering warmth of the candlelit room.
Host has consented to being transported to the Pagoda. Prepare for transportation in 3… 2…
"What?" Alice gasped, her voice tinged with panic as the message glowed insistently before her. She turned to Silas, her face pale and strained. "Silas, I—"
But she didn't get the chance to finish. The countdown hit zero, and a blinding flash of blue light engulfed her before she could utter another word. The glow was so intense that Silas had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, she was gone.
For a moment, Silas just stared at the empty space where his mother had been standing, his mind struggling to process the suddenness of it all. The silence that followed was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint hiss of the extinguished candle nearest to where she had vanished. His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "She's… gone," he muttered under his breath.
The words hung in the air as he remained frozen, the weight of everything crashing down on him. His mother was gone, whisked away to a place he couldn't follow. His body—once broken beyond repair—was whole again. A mysterious system had taken root in his mind. The world was apparently awakening to something entirely unknown, and he had no idea what to expect. It was too much, too fast, and yet… this was his reality now.
For a fleeting moment, the thought of sitting down crossed his mind, of letting himself sink into the familiar safety of stillness. But then he stiffened, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. "Fuck that," he muttered. After two years of lying in bed, confined and helpless, he wasn't about to go back sit or laying downll for now
Straightening up, Silas clenched his fists and exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of his breath. He couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice firmer. "First things first."
With a purpose he hadn't felt in years, Silas descended the stairs to the lower levels of the estate. The faint glow of scattered candles cast long, wavering shadows on the walls, and the quiet was almost unnerving. Occasionally, he glimpsed movement—servants or security guards huddled together in whispered conversations, their voices tinged with fear and uncertainty. He ignored them. Whatever panic they were feeling, whatever chaos had overtaken their lives, Silas couldn't focus on that right now. He had his own priorities.
He reached the door to his brother's room and frowned. The handle didn't budge when he tried it. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He had been hoping to find clothes—anything more practical than the silk pajamas he was wearing. Since the accident, everything that had once been his—his clothes, his belongings—had either been packed away or discarded. There was nothing left for him in his own space. He needed to find something usable, and he needed it fast.
You're right. Let me revise the section properly while keeping the core of the content exactly as written. Here's the corrected version:
As Silas turned away from the locked door to his brother's room, frustration bubbling under the surface, he noticed an older man walking down the dimly lit hallway. The man carried a candle, its small flame flickering, casting long, uneven shadows on the plain beige walls of the apartment. The faint scuff marks and scratches on the walls hinted at years of wear, a quiet testament to the building's age. Silas raised his voice, breaking the uneasy silence.
"Hey," he called out firmly, gesturing toward the door. "Can you unlock this for me?"
The older man stopped in his tracks, the candlelight flickering across his face as he turned. He moved slowly, his thin frame slightly hunched, and his expression shifted from surprise to disbelief. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, his sharp brown eyes wide as they studied Silas.
"Si… Silas Creed?" he stammered, his voice trembling as though he'd just seen a ghost.
Silas chuckled softly, stepping closer, his hands raised in mock surrender. "Yeah, it's me," he said with a faint smile. "I take it you recognize me?"
The old man nodded slowly, his candle shaking slightly in his hand. "I… I didn't think—" He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "Mr. Creed, I didn't expect to see you up and about."
Silas studied the man in the dim light, taking in the lines etched into his weathered face and the wisps of white hair barely clinging to his scalp. The man's uniform—a neatly pressed button-up shirt and slacks—was simple but clean, and he carried himself with quiet dignity despite the shock that lingered on his face.
"I don't think I know you," Silas admitted, extending a hand. "But it looks like you know me."
The man hesitated briefly, then reached out and shook Silas's hand with surprising firmness. "Edward," he said finally. "Edward Vance. I started here a little over a year ago… after your accident."
"Ah," Silas said, nodding as he dropped his hand. "That explains it. Nice to meet you, Edward." He glanced back at the locked door and sighed. "So, any chance you've got the key to this room?"
Edward shook his head, his expression regretful. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Creed. Only your brother or the head of security would have access."
Silas muttered a soft curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Figures," he said with a frustrated sigh. "Guess I'll have to find another way."
Edward cleared his throat hesitantly. "There might be another option," he said cautiously. "The gardener's quarters. His son is about your size, and they're away on holiday. His things should still be there."
Silas's brow lifted slightly, a glimmer of hope replacing his irritation. "That works," he said with a nod. "Lead the way."
Edward turned and began walking down the hallway, his steps deliberate and measured. The candlelight swayed with each movement, casting shifting patterns on the walls. Silas followed closely behind, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floors. The quiet between them stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flame and the soft creaks of the old building.
As they walked, Silas spoke up. "Edward," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Do you plan on going to the Pagoda?"
Edward glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "I'm not sure, Mr. Creed," he admitted after a pause. "About half the staff has already disappeared. Most of them wanted to follow their children. The rest… well, some think it's God. Others are talking about aliens. No one really knows what's happening."
Silas nodded slowly. "Makes sense," he said, his voice quiet. "What about the youngest? Do you know the youngest person automatically taken to the Pagoda?"
Edward frowned in thought as they rounded a corner. "I believe Anita Thompson's daughter," he said after a moment. "She's eleven. As far as I know, she's the youngest."
"Eleven," Silas repeated under his breath, filing the information away. It gave him some clarity about the system's cutoff, though it raised more questions than it answered.
They reached the door to the gardener's quarters at the far end of the building. Edward pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked it, pushing the door open with a quiet creak. "Here you are, Mr. Creed," he said, stepping aside.
"Thanks, Edward," Silas said sincerely as he stepped into the small apartment. The space was modest and practical, with two rooms: one clearly belonging to the gardener and his wife, and the other a smaller room meant for their son. The faint scent of wood polish lingered in the air, and the furniture was plain but well-kept.
Silas moved to the son's room and opened the small closet. It didn't take long to find what he needed—waterproof pants, a sturdy jacket, and a pair of boots that fit well enough. There was even a decent backpack, which he slung over one shoulder after stuffing it with a few essentials.
As he zipped up the jacket and adjusted the straps on his boots, he turned back to Edward, who was waiting patiently in the doorway. "Thanks again for your help," Silas said. "And here's some advice—go to the Pagoda. Whatever this Awakening is, it doesn't sound like something anyone should face without preparation."
Edward hesitated, his brow furrowing. But then, he nodded. "Good luck to you, Mr. Creed," he said quietly before retreating into the hallway.
As Silas stepped out, a sudden blue flash lit up the corridor behind him. He paused, glancing back just in time to see the faint afterglow fading into the air. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Looks like Edward took my advice," he murmured, his voice tinged with quiet satisfaction. Shrugging the backpack higher onto his shoulders, he turned back toward the unknown, ready to face whatever came next.